


Signal 10 (DOA--Transport)

by everyshootingstar



Series: You'll be the Worker, I'll be the Soldier [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Car Accidents, Firefighter Stiles, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyshootingstar/pseuds/everyshootingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Stilinski! There’s someone by the SUV, ambulance ETA is about fifteen minutes; I need you over there, ASAP!”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Signal 10 (DOA--Transport)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, sorry if this seems late or whatever, I don't really have a straight forward plot for this nor is there a schedule. Uh I'd just like to say that, it took me a bit to get the courage to write this because this fic has become my sounding board for things that I go through as a firefighter and first responder, so this is my way of dealing with a bad call that happened a few nights ago. Uh, I don't have much notes for this, but your basics are:  
> BVM: Bag Valve Mask is what we use when doing 2 person CPR  
> AED: Automated External Defibrillator is pretty self explanatory, I think? But if not just ask and I can explain what it does.  
> Uh yeah so, if you have questions, I'm up to answering in comments or go by [my tumblr](lifeofstiles.tumblr.com) to leave a question.  
> I appreciate all the support still <3  
> Also if there's glaring mistakes let me know <3 I'll fix them, it's pretty late here and I'm tired.

The rain made it hard to see through the windshield of Responder 1, and things like turning the defroster on in order to cut away the fog that had built up were out of the question. Responder 1 was a finicky vehicle and whenever the heat was on it seemed to lose power. They needed a new MICU but the department had to come to a vote and Finstock had to actually go and get a loan to get one. Trying to get Finstock to do his actual job as chief was like trying to get a brick wall to speak Spanish.

So here Stiles sat, his back hunched as he peered out of a small sliver of window that hadn’t been fogged up yet as he drove about five miles above speed limit on old Shady Grove Road towards a ten-fifty that’d been dispatched around ten minutes ago.

Luckily (or unluckily actually, because there was nothing lucky about car accidents) it was an all units dispatched call which required all available hands at the scene instead of just the first responders, so when Stiles finally pulled up, the Engine and Truck were both at the scene and he could vaguely see Scott, Jackson and Allison all working on extricating someone from one of the cars whose side was mangled beyond repair.

“Stilinski! There’s someone by the SUV, ambulance ETA is about fifteen minutes; I need you over there, ASAP!”

Stiles would later marvel on the fact that Finstock actually showed up to a call, but right now he needed to do his job, which involved keeping the patient alive until the ambulance got here. He grabbed his kit, although he knew that he wouldn’t really need the BVM since he was going to be doing this solo, but it never hurt to be extra prepared.

He pulled on a pair of gloves as he hurried over to the SUV and rounded the damaged front. If Stiles didn’t have any sort of professionalism in him at all, he would have either passed out of vomited from the amount of blood surrounding the patient’s body.

Suddenly, everything seemed to fade away and the only thing Stiles could see was the person in front of him and a million things rushed through his mind.

He did a quick check of the scene and although he couldn’t see much in the rain, he was relieved that the puddle he’d kneeled in that was pooling around the patient wasn’t gasoline. (He couldn’t smell it either so hopefully the fuel tank was saved from damage.)

Stiles tapped the man gently on the shoulder, “Sir?” he called out, then placed a gloved hand on his shoulder and shook him a bit, “Sir are you alright?”

When there was no answer, Stiles immediately placed his index and middle finger under the man’s chin as he used the side of his left hand to tilt his head back a little, then he leaned down.

He kept an eye on the man’s chest and listened for any sort of breathing as he moved his fingers from under his chin to his pulse.

Ten seconds passed but there was no pulse or breathing.

Stiles didn't fumble with the zipper of his bag, he’s done this for five years now, and he knew exactly how he packed it and when he pulled the flap open there’s a mouth-to-mask resuscitator lying on top of the other equipment.

He quickly fit the piece into the patient’s mouth and assumes position beside him. He folded his right hand over his left and pressed the heel of his palm against his chest in the center and just above the Xiphoid Process, then began quickly administering chest compressions.

After a round of thirty, Stiles removed his hand, pinched the man’s nose and breathed into the tube on the mask twice with slow, measured breaths.

Stiles did this five times and after two more slow and measured breaths into the mask, he checked for a pulse.

There was nothing.

This time he actually does curse and his hands slip a bit as he gets into position to begin the chest compressions again.

Everyone was off doing their own thing and it was usually mandatory that those doing CPR switch off, but in this situation there were at least four others that needed help and Stiles _would not_ let this man die. Not if he could help it.

He was on his third round of chest compressions when the ambulance pulls up and there’s hustling and bustling around and he barely heard Finstock shouting to paramedics that he’s behind the SUV. 

“We’ve brought the AED, when you’re done with that round, we’ll take over,” One of the younger paramedics told him as he kneeled on the other side of the body.

Stiles was on autopilot as he finished breathing for the patient and scooted back.

His eyes are focused on the man lying on the ground in a puddle of his own blood, the side of his face torn up from probably being thrown out of his vehicle.

He doesn’t allow himself to think that this man could be a father or that he could have someone waiting on him to get home.

He never allows himself to think that.

“—time of death: 4:32 PM, date: August 17th.”

Stiles came back from the swirling thoughts in his mind in time to hear the end of the paramedic’s conversion, to see a stretcher with a body bag on top of it being wheeled out to them.

Scott came over to him then, grabbing his elbow and helping him up, just as the paramedic who’d taken over for him asked for his name and promised to give his bag back to him after everything was over.

He stuttered out his name and let Scott lead him over to where a car was overturned in an embankment, probably the one that started the accident in the first place.

“We need you to man the controls, we’ve got Jackson and Ethan down there right now, holding the car from falling even farther, a cable’s been secured and we need someone to control that while I pull.”

Stiles nodded, pushing what had just happened back into a small corner of his mind and going over to the controls.

It was almost midnight when the scene finally cleared up and Stiles started noticing things he hadn't before.

Like how cold it is, how wet his clothes were and the horrible sensation like he was going to throw up.

He would’t though. He never has, and he had seen some gruesome things in his five years here.

Except, no one’s ever died on his hands.

He’s broken four different patients’ ribs while giving CPR but no one’s ever died.

Finstock sent him back to the station with Scott driving Responder 1, one of the emergency blankets thrown over his shoulders as he’s ushered into the passenger seat.

For once, Chief doesn’t yell at him, just put a hand on his shoulder. (It’s more comforting than it seems.)

When Scott backs in Responder 1, Stiles worked on autopilot then. He got out of the cab and went towards the showers that were housed in the back of the station.

He doesn’t hear Scott do it, but he knew that Scott called his dad and told him what happened, and he knew that when he got out of the shower and checked his phone there’d be a text from his dad saying not to worry about work tonight.

(It’s happened before, after Stiles’ first structure fire when he fractured his wrist while trying to operate a hose, and then again when Stiles completed his 1152 training after nearly passing out inside the test fire.)

He brushed off Scott’s worried chatter when he returned from the showers and left his jeep keys in his locker.

There was a diner not far from the station and Stiles knew that he needed some food and something to drink before his body started going into shock when the adrenaline finally wore down.

The walk to the diner wasn’t long and when he stepped inside, he immediately felt sick.

His stomach would probably resist food and he’d feel like he’d vomit, but he needed to eat and he needed to keep fluids in his body.

When Stiles sat down in his booth, he’d barely started looking at the menu before he heard the soft _woosh_ of someone sliding into the other side.

“I took your bag back to the station for you.”

Stiles looked up and saw the same curly haired paramedic that was at the scene, “Thanks,” he said, voice slightly rough.

“Scott told me you’d walked here,” The paramedic said, “I’m Isaac, by the way.”

“Stiles,” he repeated, although he knew that Isaac knew his name already. “You didn’t have to come here.”

Isaac shrugged, “My boss let me go since I was extra hands today, and I’m meeting someone here so it’s not like I actually came here _for_ you.”

Stiles chose to not reply to that, and instead, looked back down at the menu.

“Hey look, I’m an asshole sometimes but really Stiles. You okay? I know what happened tonight was bad, but it wasn’t your fault.”

He bit his lip, eyes looking between the eggs and toast and the soup of the day.

“Stiles,” Isaac said again, “It’s _not_ your fault. It’s no one’s fault, you can’t save them all no matter how hard you try.”

“What can I get you two?”

Stiles didn’t even notice anyone else was there with them. He looked up to place his order and immediately stopped.

Standing there in the diner staff’s usual uniform of black pants, white shirt and white apron was Derek.

“Hey Derek, didn’t know you were here tonight?” Isaac said. “I thought Erica was.”

“She’s with Laura tonight, she’s got a cold.”

Stiles wanted to ask if Laura was doing okay besides the cold, if they’d followed his instructions and started cutting her food into smaller pieces or not, but couldn’t get the words out.

Isaac seemed to understand and ushered Derek to bend down a bit, “Bad call tonight,” he said lowly, “Can you get us what Erica always brings when something bad happens to me?”

Derek looked between the two and wrote something down before walking away.

“He’s bad at the customer service,” Isaac said conversationally, “So don’t mind him.”

Stiles shook his head, “it’s fine,” he said. “What did you order me, anyway? I was going for the soup.”

Isaac smirked, “How much of that soup would you have eaten?” he asked, and when Stiles didn’t say anything his smirk widened, “I ordered toast, because your stomach’s probably hurting right now and you feel like you’re going to puke any second. Water too, because you’re thirsty. With a side of egg whites to fill you up until you’re able to make it home and eat an actual meal.”

Stiles was a bit surprised at how much thought Isaac had put into this.

“Hey look Stiles, it’s tough, I know. Watching someone die and not being able to do anything about it. It messes with you, but it happens and that’s the worst part of life. Someone who’s inebriated can come out of an accident without a scratch but an innocent bystander trying to get home ends up dying. It’s a vicious cycle. And it’s an unfair one, but that’s how life is.”

Stiles barely noticed Derek returning with two large glasses of water until a straw was laid across his clenched fist.

“Drink,” is all Derek said before walking back to the employee’s only entrance.

He done so, forgoing the straw and picking up the glass with a shaking hand. He knew from experience not to drink too much, so he took a couple slow drinks before placing the glass back down.

It was a few more minutes before he spoke.

“When I first started out, back at seventeen, I got into this because I wanted the fame. It was a cool thing, you know? Save people from fires. I didn’t…I never realized how much _work_ it took to actually save a burning building before it ended up fully engulfed. I never realized that all those times that _I_ was out there doing the work, the _werewolves_ at the station were the ones getting the credit. So I just…after a while I told myself I was going to become better than them so that people would notice me doing it. That some lowly human was the one out there doing all these great things. After a while I just got so used to doing better that I forgot about the fame and along the way, I forgot that bad things happen sometimes too.”

Isaac stayed quiet until he was finished and stayed quiet for several long moments before he looked at Stiles, “You’re pretty famous.” He said. “People talk about you. The human who puts his life on the line every single day there’s a call, you _station_ is talked about. You have what…three humans, four counting your chief? And yet you three work like you’re werewolves.” He offered a slightly there smile, “There’s been talks that you three should get a salary like the others do. The ones who run among wolves. It’s not often that happens at fire departments. Derek even spoke highly of you.”

“Derek?”

Isaac’s smirked again, “Yeah, Derek. He’s my alpha, you know. He didn’t have to call 911 in order to get someone to help; he could have easily called me. I wasn’t in town at the moment but I could have left and made it back here pretty fast. He called 911 who then set you off because he knew that your station would help Laura. It’s not often that fire stations, first responders even, are non-discriminant towards species.”

“We don’t really tolerate that,” Stiles said, feeling a bit of pride settle in his stomach. “It doesn’t matter what someone is, if they’re in trouble we’re going to do what we can to help.”

Isaac took a drink of his water, “That’s why everyone in the public safety division of this jurisdiction wants you as Chief next year.”

Well, Stiles wasn’t really expecting that.

“Here’s your food,” Derek said as he placed plates down in front of them.

Stiles looked up at Derek and smiled slightly, “Thanks,” he said, wondering if it sounded weird to have so much gratitude in his voice when he’s supposed to be thanking him for _food_ not for saying he’s good at what he does.

The corner of Derek’s lips twitched, “You’re welcome,” he said, and although he didn't say much else, something warm settled in the pit of Stiles' stomach.

“Don’t I get a thank you?” Isaac interrupted, eyebrow raised.

Stiles rolls his eyes before he caught himself, “Thanks,” he said dryly, although he was sure that Isaac understood the sincerity of it (if by the way Isaac kicked at his shins under the table).

Isaac dropped him off at the station after they ate, handing him a scrap of paper. “My number,” he said. “In case you need someone to kick some sense into you after a bad call.”

He looked down at the slip of paper in his hand, “Thanks,” he said, “And thanks for what you said, again. It means a lot to know that people actually do kinda understand what I’m doing.”

“Yeah,” Isaac said, “As a member of the werewolf species I appreciate it. Some of us can be assholes, but not all of us are against humans.”

“Same goes for humans. Not all of us are against werewolves. Just the assholeish ones.”  

Isaac snorted, “Right,” he said. “Get some sleep and text me in the morning if you have the need for waffles.”

Stiles unfolded the paper and looked down at the scribble of numbers on it, “Yeah, cool.” He said. “I’ll do that.”

“Good work tonight, Stilinski,” Isaac said as he pulled his car into gear, “See you in the morning.”

Stiles waved as Isaac pulled away and then walked back inside the station where Scott was still waiting on him.

He didn’t say anything to Scott and Scott didn’t say anything to him, just patted him on the back and grabbed his keys.

Tonight was one of those nights where you needed video games and pizza in order to forget it. 


End file.
